The Empty House by Michael Gilbert Page A

matter fairly quickly, Mr.—um—Manciple. This is one of our busy days.”
    “I hope so too, sir,” said Peter.
    “I am not clear from this—um—communication exactly what it is I am expected to tell you.”
    “We wanted to see if we could get any sort of lead as to how – or why – this very odd accident should have happened.”
    “An unhappy accident. But I do not understand quite why you describe it as odd. Dr. Wolfe’s car ran off the track and went over the cliff.”
    “Well, there were one or two odd things about it. The fact that there were no skid marks, which would seem to indicate that he made no attempt to brake after going off the path.””That would be quite consistent with his having had a blackout.”
    “Yes, I suppose so. I was hoping that you might be able to fill in the background for me.”
    “You realise that I cannot discuss the work he was doing here.”
    “I do realise that. What I meant was the factual background. How long he had been here. What sort of life he lived.”
    “He joined us nearly six years ago.”
    “I suppose he worked very much on his own?”
    “Almost entirely.”
    “So that until you got his report every two years, you really had little idea what point his researches had reached?”
    Colonel Hollingum stared at him. Then he said, “Has some member of my staff been speaking to you?”
    “Nothing like that. I happened to be talking to his sister.”
    “It was indiscreet of Dr. Wolfe to discuss his work with his sister. And if he did choose to tell her anything; she should not have passed it on to you.”
    Peter saw that they were getting off on the wrong foot. He said, “She didn’t know anything about his work. I doubt if she’d have understood it if he had described it, and I’m quite certain I shouldn’t. The last science I did was making gunpowder at my prep school. It wasn’t even very good gunpowder. It didn’t explode.”
    “I see. Then what—?”
    “The sort of things I wanted to know were whether Dr. Wolfe was in normal health and spirits last week. Was he worried or upset about anything.”
    “You must appreciate that I had very little to do with Dr. Wolfe personally. He went his own way. I had categorical instructions not to interfere with him.”
    “He was wellknown in his own line?”
    “He was the most distinguished genetic biologist we have ever had in this establishment. My job was to see that he had the best possible working conditions and total lack of interference.”
    “Did he go outside the camp much?”
    “When he was working here, very little. Sometimes he went out fishing. And he went occasionally into Bridgetown in the evenings for a glass of beer at the Doone Valley Hotel.”
    “And one of your men went with him.”
    The Colonel looked at him stonily. He seemed, Peter thought, to have a list divided into two columns: items which could be discussed and items which could not. Peter was aware that he had again approached the dividing line.
    The Colonel said, “You misunderstand the position. I was responsible for Dr. Wolfe’s—um—comfort and wellbeing inside the camp. When he left it, he came under a different jurisdiction. Lewis and Bateson were neither of them my men.”
    “Lewis was the man who was hit by a motorist?”
    “Yes.”
    “That was on the same day that Dr. Wolfe had his accident?”
    “Yes.”
    “Would he have known about Lewis’ death?”
    The Colonel considered the matter. Evidently the answer was on the permitted side of the line. He said, “We had the news about Lewis in the course of the afternoon. It was widely discussed. I imagine Dr. Wolfe heard about it before he left.”
    “And when was that?”
    “Shortly before nine o’clock that evening.”
    “Might he have been upset at the news?”
    “He might have been. We should not necessarily have known that he was. Dr. Wolfe was not a man who exhibited his feelings in public.”
    There was a short pause. It seemed to be the end of the